James Douglas Woolery, MD – 50th Reunion Essay
James Douglas Woolery, MD
2900 Monticello Road
Napa, California 94558
jdirons@mac.com
707-501-0114
Spouse(s): Nina Schwartz, MD (1973)
Child(ren): Elijah (1976), Alexander (1979), Hart and Gavan (identical twins, 1981)
Grandchild(ren): Phoebe (2011), Dashiell James (2016), Fiona (2015), Axelle (2016)
Education: UC San Diego, 1973 M.D. UCLA School of Medicine, 1979 Residency in Psychiatry
Career: Psychiatrist for the Permanente Medical Group, Northern California 1990–2014, chief of department 2005–2014
Avocations: Reading ancient Greek, writing poetry, birding, fly fishing, teaching mathematics, cooking for dinner parties for friends
College: Branford
It’s not too much to say that every good thing in my life has resulted from the accident of having been admitted to Yale. Here’s my attempt to celebrate some of these: in the last piece, I recall a dear friend, now gone. In the first two, I am thinking of Nina’s and my children and grandchildren, the greatest blessings one can have.
THERMODYNAMICS OF THE MARTINI
An abstract algebra of winter trees,
an alphabet, as one can plainly see,
is offered us, now that the bumblebees
are sleeping. Phoebe, could you sing for me,
while sunlight lifts the branches? Can this be
the Heaven I was promised at eighteen?
For Phoebe
I’M GOING TO SAY MY FAVORITE MONTH IS JUNE
I’m going to say my favorite girl is you.
When you showed up, the new me came to life.
For years I’d been a patient of myself,
taking my pulse, checking my temperature.
The saddest thing: no good came from the cave
I lived in then. —The almost always rain
and wind occasioned fruitless argument
—though many aren’t content even in the sun.
Fancying myself an “auteur,” I’d sleep through
my weakest lines, too tired for fathering.
—Surprise! A first child, a baby girl
who learned to count before she spoke a word,
which made me stop my bitching, and begin
to move her toward Euler’s Identity.
We’d leave our bicycles high in the woods.
By now they’ve rusted back to what they were
before we tuned ’em up. Even as a teen,
she’ll never “press,” beyond the usual.
Is this twilight infectious, Dr. Dreams?
Her laughter doesn’t diminish after dark.
The clockwork of the heavens only seems
to constellate the gladness of her being.
We find it hard to argue with a star.
For Phoebe
THE AGE OF MIRACLES HASN’T PASSED
For a while we caught the spirit of things
as they had drifted in the past. And we got
to know them really well. Cobwebs sailed
above the shore…—John Ashbery
You know what makes me happy? Bach, and birds.
And children, even when they’re ill-behaved.
I’ve spoken with the parents, and the wind
is dropping by this evening, to appraise
the way grandparents have been tending to
inclement weather, and the rites of spring,
this time around being… chaotic. —So
by tallying apart things that we know
to be true, or at least not everywhere
riddled with falsehood, we can just relax.
But if the age of miracles has passed,
It’s back to work for us! Untouched by fire,
It’s going to be more grueling this time.
We’ll wait here for the next storm, for its light.
It seems to me we’re finally “getting” life.
Or living. (Which is almost the same thing.)
If I get too happy, mix me a drink!
I’ve been reliving old errors: here’s my song:
This time, I’m right. Correct me if I’m wrong.
For Bruce Hopewell
If the above is blank, no 50th reunion essay was submitted.